Bóthar are at it again.
The latest ads on the radio have Miley rabbiting (goating, in-calf-heifering, guinea fowling etc.) on about Bóthar’s Valentine’s Day appeal.
What next? Paddy’s Day appeal. Washing Day appeal. Bath Night appeal. All-Ireland Final day appeal. NCT due day appeal.
Now I’ve nothing against charities. I support the Brewers Droop Research Fund, Nuke the Whale Already.org, How to Dismember an Atomic Kitten Adult Education Programme, and many more. But these guys are pushing it.
They are in big danger of losing their bóthar-cred this time. Any man with the balls to present his beloved with a gift from Bóthar this Valentine’s Day will not be using said balls for a very, very long time.
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I don’t know. I’d love a herd of chickens.
WHAT D’YOU MEAN, I DON’T GET TO KEEP THEM?
Oh sheet, I know a woman who would think that was the best idea EVER. I was at a lunch with her recently and she lectured me for about twenty minutes of horses producing urine for HRT and how we were all too fucing lazy to do something about it. This would be right up her street.
Settled then: I’ll get you girls your very own flock of horses. TSL, you can take the piss out of them. And FMC, you can sell it to the luncheon lady. Everyone happy out.
Ah, fek! Mid-day already and not a chicken in the house sandpapered.
“Give a man a fish and you feed him for a day; teach him to use the Net and he won’t bother you for weeks.”
I’m in my lollerskates.
Sneeze, you are a fucking genius. You just reminded me of the anti-Bothar rant I was supposed to do, but forgot due to drunkenness. Thank you. You are a true mensch.